Weekend at the Cabin Ch. 01-02

Weekend at the Cabin: I

A WORD TO THE READER: This story is probably most accurately described as a bi story, but, curiously, Literotica.com does not have a separate category for bi-sexual stories. So just a heads-up -- this story has a lot of M-M content, but also a lot of M-M-F.

Hope you enjoy,

C.A.

"How about some more jerky?"

"Sure -- why not?" You can never have too much jerky, right?

And that afterthought just about completed our shopping needs for the weekend at Brad's cabin. Tim and I had been planning this weekend getaway for a long time. Our buddy Brad -- actually, he's Tim's buddy more than mine, but we know each other and we're friendly -- has this great cabin in the pinewoods, about 2-1/2 hours from home, and he's offered it to us, free, anytime that he doesn't already have someone renting it. A week ago, he called Tim to tell him that the cabin was free this weekend and we were welcome to come up and stay there for as much of the week as we wanted.

We were at this backroad gas station-general store on the two-lane highway about 20 minutes from the cabin. It's where we usually stop because it's close to the cabin and it's a good place to load up on beer and other cold drinks, ice, frozen pizzas and Hot Pockets, and anything we might have forgotten, like bug repellent, sun screen, or any fishing tackle we think we'll need.

It's off the beaten path, kind of a funky little place, and I think that's why we kind of like it. There's always an old guy there -- I guess he owns the place -- and sometimes we've seen a girl or young woman who looks like she might be related to the old guy in some way.

Anyhow, we're out loading the ice and beer and stuff into Tim's pickup when we hear someone crunching across the gravel parking lot toward us. We look over, and it's a girl. It looks like the girl we've seen around the store sometimes, although we didn't notice her today.

"Hey! You guys, looks like you're headin' off somewheres for a few days. Whereya goin'?"

Since we kind of knew her, we told her that we were headed off to a buddy's cabin for three or four days of fishing and drinking and lying. We thought that last might get a laugh out of her. Nope, not even a smile. Totally deadpan.

By now, this was already more time than we'd spent with her in the past four years we've been coming up here, so I paused to take a look at her, really for the first time. In a word, she was -- "unremarkable." A little on the petite side -- maybe 5'-1" -- with very pale skin with almost no tan or anything. Her untended hair was brown with a slight coppery tinge, and that might explain the pale skin and the freckles scattered across her cheeks and the thin upper chest that peeked out from her worn-thin tee shirt.

She wasn't exactly skinny -- I guess you'd have to say that she was thin (or maybe slim, or slender -- or are those just upscale words for "thin"?). Her chest − or at least, as much as we could see from the neck of her tee shirt -- wasn't bony; and her arms and the legs which extended below her Bermuda-length denim shorts were kind of average -- not thin, not muscled. From what we could see in the loose shorts, her hips were narrow, but there was a slight roundness to her ass.

But the unusual thing was her expression. As I said, she didn't crack a smile at our lame joke about spending our time lying. In fact, it looked like her thin lips hadn't smiled a lot in her -- I'd guess -- 18 years or so.

Still trying to respond to her approach in some way, Tim said, "We've seen you around the store several times, haven't we? You worked here long?"

"Yeah, my Grandpa owns the place and I help him out. We live in the house out back of the store," and she pointed around a corner, and behind the "store" was a simple one-floor house that you can't see when you're driving in.

"Anyone else?" prying a little here.

"Nuh, just me and Grandpa." She paused, and like she finally remembered why she came over to talk with us in the first place, she said, "So, are you guys meeting up with anyone else? Or is it just you two guys?"

We looked at each other, like, Where is this going?

I cautiously offered, "Nope, just us two," and kind of let my words hang there.

With no change in inflection, she said, "Can I come along?"

Whoa! Where did that come from??

"You mean like -- you need a ride somewhere, or something?"

"Nuh, can I come to your cabin with you? Like for the weekend. Or however long you're stayin'."

Tim and I looked at each other. Tim decided to play it cautious. He asked, "Are you sure it's OK? Like, have you talked with your -- Grandpa?" We really weren't sure what kind of a situation we were dealing with here.

"Yeah, before I came out to you guys I asked him and he said he knows you guys so it'd be OK."

Knows us? Granted, we've been in the store several times a year for the past four years or so, but − "knows us?"

Still not sure about... about any of this, to tell the truth, Tim took another approach. "How about your Grandpa -- won't he need your help with the store?" We waited, hesitantly.

"Nah, it's kinda slow now, so he says it's OK."

Now we had to make a decision. We had planned to come up here for some fishing and hiking, plus some "quality time" together. Now this... this girl... was asking to come along with us. Admittedly, the added presence of a female offered some expanded opportunities. I mean, however simple and sheltered her life might be, she has to have some idea of what would probably happen if a young woman her age spent several days -- and nights -- alone with two grown men. Nonetheless, this sure wasn't part of the original plan.

Tim and I looked at each other, like, "Do we really want to do this?" and then each of us gave a "What the hell?" shrug and said to the girl, who'd been standing there, not moving, not saying anything, "Sure."

Then Tim had an afterthought. "Don't you have anything you need to bring with?"

"Nah. You guys got soap and shampoo and a spare toothbrush?"

Yes, yes, and yes, I had some extra toothbrushes that you get each time you visit the dentist.

"I guess so. So,...you want to say goodbye."

"Nah, I did already."

I held the door open for her and she got in, and I got in after her, and Tim started up and off we drove to... to what, we weren't exactly sure, but it promised to be "different." As we wheeled out of the parking lot and onto the highway, she said, "I'm Tanya."

I said, "I'm Chase, and he's Tim." And that was the entire extent of the conversation for the next 22 minutes, until we pulled up at the cabin and Tim stopped the truck. We got out and began unloading our stuff. Tim went up and unlocked the door and started opening the windows to air the place out. He also went out back to flip on the electricity and switch on the pump for the well.

Without being asked, he girl started unloading groceries, immediately grabbing the full case of beer and humping it up the steps. Still holding the beer, she managed to open the screen door with one hand and edge her way in. By the time I grabbed my duffel and my tackle box, she had already plugged in the refrigerator and turned it on and was wiping down the inside with a wet dish rag. As soon as she finished that she started putting the beers in the fridge. I guess years of stocking the coolers at the store had taught her to make fast, efficient work of it. The next trip, and the pizzas and frozen stuff were safely in the icemaker compartment. She'd even put in our small "starter" bag of ice from the store.

The cabin was really just two rooms -- the big front room, which included the kitchen and eating table and fireplace and wood burning stove, as well as the "big" bed. The other room was almost like an "annex" -- it didn't even have a door to close it off, and just a smaller bed and a dresser and clothes rack and a chair. There was an indoor toilet, but that's all it was -- a toilet, plumbed to a septic tank some distance away (Legal distance? Who knows?), and a tiny little sink, about big enough for you to wash your hands or brush your teeth, but not much more. If you needed more space to wash, you used the kitchen sink. If you want to take a bath --well, that's what the lake is for.

We just decided that the girl -- "Tanya" -- would get the small bedroom and Tim and I would take the bed in the main room. Her response: "OK." She didn't remark on the obvious fact that it meant that Tim and I would be sharing the same bed. Either she was too dim to recognize the implications, or else she just had an exceptionally practical attitude.

Tim and I got most of the stuff out of our duffels and tried to do something orderly with it. Tanya, since she had absolutely nothing to unpack or arrange, finished putting things in the fridge and the dry foods in the cupboard, then spent her time running a damp rag over all the counters and tables and chairs and window sills and every other flat surface in the cabin.

We didn't talk about it, but I think Tim and I were both wondering, "What the hell have we just done?" Here we were planning a nice guys' weekend of fishing and hiking and -- let's be honest -- "us-time." Instead, we went and allowed this young girl to invite herself right into the middle of "our" weekend.

And this is what was going through our minds as the three of us set about settling into what would be our home -- for all three of us -- for the next three days. But the strange thing was, even though adding Tanya had increased the population of our small cabin by fifty percent, her presence didn't seem to make things crowded − physically or "psychically."

And it was Tanya who said, "Are either of you guys hungry? 'Cause I am."

As soon as she said it, we realized that it had been a long time since our late breakfast before we set out on the road. We concluded that two of the pizzas -- we had to get a bunch of the medium-sized pizzas -- we'd learned from experience that the larger ones won't fit in the small ice compartment in the fridge -- that two of the pizzas would be just right for the three of us. Tanya bounced up from the table and in no time had the oven of the gas stove lit (far faster than Tim or I have ever been able to). She looked inside the fridge and called out over her shoulder, "Pepperoni, sausage, cheese, or veggie?"

She put the two pies in the oven, then asked what time it was. Then she started setting out paper plates and utensils and paper towels from the new roll she'd found under the sink counter. Tim and I looked at each other. We didn't need to be waited-on, and we certainly hadn't planned on it. It's just that we were surprised that Tanya had stepped in so quickly, and that she was doing it all so capably. So, so far, so good. But there was still the question of how things were going to go as the evening progressed.

She asked me the time again, then started counting to herself, and in about a minute she opened the oven and pulled out the two perfectly baked pies and put them on the doubled-up paper plates she'd placed by the stove. While Tim cut the pizzas -- because using knives and sharp stuff is man's work, y'know -- she got beers for Tim and me and poured herself a glass of Coke from the big two-litre plastic bottle. We looked at her Coke and then looked at each other. She hadn't just helped herself to one of our beers. She got points for that.

So between the three of us, we finished the pizza, except for one slice -- you knew there was going to be competition for that later -- and cleaned up. This time, all three of us pitched in − whatever her "status" was, we didn't want it so that Tanya became our "maid" for the weekend.

We decided to take a walk down to the lake. Most of the property around the lake is private but there are a few spots that are public access. The evening was starting to get a little cool and Tanya had only what she'd been wearing back at the gas station parking lot -- tee shirt, Bermuda shorts, and an old pair of plain white canvas tennis shoes. I'd brought a heavy jacket-shirt that I gave to Tanya to wear. If was a thick, mostly wool thing with large red and black checks, in what I guess you'd call a lumberjack pattern. For some reason, seeing Tanya wearing it made me think of Dinty Moore -- remember, the guy on the canned stew label? Anyhow, the funny thing was, wearing that rugged-looking shirt made her look more robust, less... "frail" is the only word I can think of, than the way she looked back at the store.

Anyhow, we walked for about half an hour, then decided it was getting downright chilly so we headed back to the cabin.

Brad always stockpiles some firewood in a lean-to right next to the front porch, and you're expected to replace what you use before you leave. We each brought in an armload of logs and Tim laid a fire in the fireplace and started it using the old newspapers and twigs and kindling that we found in the galvanized tub by the fireplace.

Once the fire got going, Tim asked, "You ready for a beer, Buddy?" I nodded my approval, and then he turned to Tanya. "How about you, T -- you want to join us?" It looked like the three of us were going to be together for the next several days and he didn't want her to feel like an outsider, and calling her "T" and offering her one of our beers was his way of doing it.

"Sure -- that's if it's OK?"

"I'll get 'em. Can OK?"

He went to the fridge and took out three of the carefully arranged cans, popped them open, and brought them over to us. We clunked cans, and for want of anything better, said "Cheers," and took our first swigs.

I guess the pizzas had been kind of salty, especially the pepperoni. I said, "I don't know about you two, but I think I could use another." Everyone agreed, and this time it was my turn to get three more beers from the fridge.

So the three of us sat and watched the fire, and Tanya asked some polite, get-to-know-you type questions, like "Where're you from?" and "How often do you come up here?" and "How long have you known each other?"

And then, out of nowhere, she dropped the bomb.

"Are you guys queer?"

Startled by her question, Tim and I just looked at each other. I mean, it was an obvious question, under the circumstances, but we never expected to hear it expressed so baldly.

So, like the rocket scientists we are, we said, "What do you mean?"

"Are you two queer? Like, do you do queer stuff?"

"What do you mean, 'queer stuff'?"

In her first display of emotion since she'd approached us in the store parking lot, she gave an exasperated sigh. "Do you do queer stuff,... like do you put each other's cocks in your mouth and swallow each other's cum and stuff like that?"

Well, it was obvious that she knew what kind of "stuff" queers do, and she must have a pretty good suspicion that we did it, too. Tim answered her. "Yeah, we do stuff like that," and then for some reason he added, "... and other stuff."

She nodded, almost to herself, like she was satisfied that she finally got an answer to what in her mind was a very straightforward, obvious question.

Then she thought some more. "When you two do queer stuff -- can I help?"

Weekend at the Cabin: II

"Do you do queer stuff?

"... like, do you put each other's cocks in your mouths and swallow each other's cum and stuff like that?"

And when Tim answered her, "Yeah, we do," and then added, "... and other stuff, too," that's when she asked,

"When you do queer stuff -- can I watch?

"And maybe help?"

That took us completely by surprise, too. I mean, considering the situation, if -- and by "if," I mean when -- Tim and I do something, she'd be right there. I mean, even if she stayed in "her" room, there's no door, so everything that goes on in the main room would be open and visible to her.

Also, Tim and I have never had anyone watch us when we do "stuff." It's not that we're shy or trying to hide it − it's just that there's never been anyone else around when we...

Well, it looked like that was going to change this weekend. And, to my surprise, I felt myself getting excited at the thought of it.

I looked at Tim, then looked around the room and said, "It looks like if we do anything there's no way you can't see us doing it, so, I guess... yeah."

Then she thought some more. "When you do queer stuff -- can I help?"

That one hit me by surprise, too. I mean, how does someone "help" two guys do "queer stuff?" Well, if we're motivated, I'm sure Tim and I could figure something out.

But then I decided to tease her a bit. "If you help us, it won't strictly be queer stuff, will it?"

That stopped her. She rolled that thought around in her head a little, then recovered. "But I can still help, right?" Atta girl! -- gotta love the spirit!

Tim was getting a concerned -- and somewhat peeved -- expression on his fact. "Chase, can we talk a minute?"

"You guys wanna talk, I can go in th' other room if ya' want?"

I was surprised that she had picked up on the sudden tension. Also, I was pleased -- impressed -- that she had been so quick to offer to leave us alone.

As soon as she was out of the room, Tim revealed his frustration. "What the hell, man? I thought we were going to have a weekend just for us -- first one in a long time. And instead we end up with this strange girl along. I don't know what we were thinking, but now we're stuck with her."

I could tell that this was what was on his mind -- that the presence of this "strange girl" -- Tanya -- would "queer" our queer weekend.

"I know what you're saying, man, but y'know, I don't think she'll be a problem. It doesn't sound like she has any problem with what we do. There's another thing, too. You know we've never had anyone watch us, and we've talked about it and how it might be exciting to have someone watching us. In fact, having her here might open up some other possibilities...," and I left that thought kind of open-ended.

Tim, as usual, heard me out, then seemed to think it over.

"And besides, think of it this way -- now we have three more holes for the weekend."

Tim raised his eyebrows, like he was mulling over the inescapable logic of my arithmetic. His negative view of the situation seemed to lift somewhat.

"Okay -- let's see what happens." Then he turned toward the opening to the bedroom. "T, you can come out here now." I was surprised at how he gently reassured her. "Thanks for giving Chase and me time to talk. Everything's fine."

And in her direct, uncomplicated manner that we were still trying to get used to, she asked, "So, are ya gonna do stuff?"

Tim and I looked at each other. We'd unwound from the trip, eaten, dinner had settled, we had a nice fire going in the fireplace, it wasn't too late and we weren't tired, so...

I said, "I think now would be a fine time to do stuff, don't you, Tim?" He stood up, I walked the few steps over to where he was standing and, as we have so often done, I kissed him. We put our arms around each other, gently, and kissed.

Tim has the most marvelously soft lips. I don't mean "soft" as in soft − more like firm-but-tender. And like we usually do, we nibbled at each other's lips a little -- no tongue − not yet, at least. I thought of Tanya. I looked over and saw that she was just standing there, across the room, but watching, watching us kiss. She seemed almost hypnotized, like she had never seen anything like this before. Then I realized -- of course she hadn't.

I reached down between us to feel between Tim's legs, to see if he was responding to our kisses, and I felt the thickening as his cock began swelling to fill the crotch of his jeans. He, in turn, reached down and found that my cock was thickening, too, and we massaged each other through our pants.